


Howlin' For You

by Shampain



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, awkward set ups, random character and friend development, wedding au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby and Mary Margaret are living a comfortable life in Boston as roommates when they hear their friend Belle is finally tying the knot. As wedding preparations commence, Mary Margaret's former one night stand and current pal Victor Whale decides to set her up with one of his college friends, Jeff, because after she left Storybrooke in disgrace years earlier she can't very well attend the wedding <i>alone</i>.<br/>While Ruby would love for her friend to finally get over David Nolan, she finds herself spending way more time than she's ever had to with Victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. save the date

**Author's Note:**

> So this took me awhile to decide on, because I actually really, really like Mary Margaret/Whale, and I enjoy the idea of just friendship between Ruby and Victor. 
> 
> But then everyone who ships Frankenwolf got kicked in the teeth on Sunday. I'm so sorry, babies. So I made a decision and here's some fic. Let's see if it goes anywhere! (I'm terrible about updating, but as long as you guys aren't expecting Shakespeare, I'll try to be frequent.)
> 
> Fun fact for non-Aussies who don't have Aussie friends: doona is a real word.

“Ruby! Ruby, wake up.”

“I am awake,” Ruby muttered. However, since she was laying flat on her stomach in bed with her face so intensely ingrained into the pillow it was a wonder she hadn't smothered to death, the words did not come out quite so clearly.

There was a pause. Ruby thought maybe she could go back to sleep. But then Mary Margaret began slowly, slowly tugging the blanket down. Since Ruby had passed out in her bra and underwear after they got home from the bar last night, that movement let in far too much cold air for her comfort. With an annoyed groan, Ruby peeled her face from her pillow and rolled over, flailing her arms and attempting to lightly smack at her assailant.

She was treated to Mary Margaret looking like an angel at the foot of her bed, holding the end of the comforter. She was wearing a set of pyjamas and was alarmingly fresh-faced. “So,” she said, as if she hadn't just rampaged into her roommate's room and rudely awoke her at – Ruby narrowed her eyes at the bedside clock – 8:30 in the morning. “Did you look at yesterday's mail?”

“What?” Ruby groaned, throwing her hand over her face. She felt awful. Her mouth was fuzzy, her eyes grimy. She had definitely drunk too much the night before. Why, _why_ did she always feel the need to overcompensate for Mary Margaret? “Why are you bothering me? Go away and die.”

“You're so sweet,” Mary Margaret chuckled. She wiggled the end of the comforter. “Hey, you remember what Belle calls this?”

Ruby propped herself up on her elbows. “A doona?” she answered, gamely. They used to make fun of her for saying that, but it was a cute little word; even now, they tended to use her Australian slang for a lot of things, especially when she wasn't around. Every time they asked each other what they'd be having for tea, it called up a little ghost of their friend. “Why are you in here quizzing me about weird-things-Belle-says?”

“Because she just said another weird thing,” Mary Margaret replied. “Like 'yes' to a one Mister Gold.”

That had Ruby sitting upright, fast (which did no favours to her head). “What!” she shouted.

“The card arrived in the mail yesterday and I just saw it.”

“I wanna see it!” Ruby practically fell out of bed on her way out to the kitchen.

“Can't you put some pants on!” her roommate called after her.

“No! No time!”

There it was, sitting on their kitchen table. A beautiful card done up in tones of gold and ivory and the sort of rose colours you saw on a sunrise. According to the date on the card, it was to be a winter wedding.

Mary Margaret caught up with her. “Do you want to call her?” she asked.

“You're damn straight I do,” Ruby said, flipping the card over. “How come there's only one? Is only one of us invited? Did I piss her off and forget about it?”

“It's a Save the Date, not an invitation. It's letting us know we're invited without a formal invitation yet.”

“That's kind of weird. I wonder if her whole wedding is going to be all crazy and formal like her crazy and formal fiance.”

“Let's call and ask.”

“Will you make me coffee first, beloved roommate?”

“I will if you go shower, beloved roommate. You smell like whiskeysweat.”

“Ew. Ok.”

She'd only managed to get most of her makeup off before going to bed the night before, unfortunately. As usual, it was the mascara that was the biggest culprit. She gave her face an extra scrub before getting into the shower, which helped her head somewhat. It wasn't a bad hangover, just enough to stick around and make her feel like crap. Hopefully a lot of coffee, juice, and a decent breakfast would get her over it well enough.

She put on a pair of jeans and a tank top, clipped her wet hair on top of her head, then went and chugged a glass of water. By then, Mary Margaret had the coffee maker running, with two big mugs doctored just the way they both liked it – hot and sweet.

They both sat down at the kitchen table, Mary Margaret's cell phone between them. Without asking to see if Ruby was ready – this was a call to a good friend, not an ex they were trying to get a favourite sweater back from – she hit dial and turned the phone on speaker.

After two rings, there was a click. “Hey!” Belle exclaimed.

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to say something, but Ruby accomplished it first. “You're getting _married_!” she all but thundered.

“I know!” Belle replied, smarmily. “That's why I just gave a lot of money to a print shop.”

“We're so happy for you, Belle,” Mary Margaret said, quickly. “I don't know if Ruby managed to get that sentiment in there just now.”

“Of course we're happy for you,” Ruby said. “I mean, he's not my type-”

“Thank God,” Belle said.

“-Hey! But he adores the Hell out of you. And he's rich.”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. “Ever the realist.”

“Is the wedding going to be done up all crazy, like?” Ruby asked. “Have you picked a Maid of Honour yet? Do Mary Margaret and I have to fight for it?”

Belle was just laughing heartily on the other end of the line. “Look,” she said. “I love you both, but I'm not selfish. So I'd be so happy if you'd both consent to being bridesmaids, but I have someone else in mind for Maid of Honour. Someone local. I think it'll go much smoother that way.”

As one, Ruby and Mary Margaret released a breath of relief. Belle must have heard, because she started laughing again.

“So you'll be bridesmaids?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Mary Margaret said. “And a winter wedding, huh? That will be really romantic.”

“I figured that way you'd be able to extend your visit?” Belle asked, hopefully. “I mean. With classes out for the holidays...”

Mary Margaret blushed. “Belle, tell me you didn't pick a date with us in mind.”

Belle paused. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Belle!”

“How fancy is this thing going to be?” Ruby asked. “Does Mr. Gold have a bunch of crazy rich relatives from Scotland who are going to show up and be super snooty? Are there weird wedding traditions I don't know about?”

“Calm down, Ruby,” Belle said. “To answer the one question you're burning to know: open bar.”

“Yes!”

“And Richard and I agree that big fancy weddings aren't that great,” she continued. “I mean, his last marriage started out that way and it was pretty terrible by the end. As far as the marriage contract goes we did consider just doing a quick courtroom thing, too, but I also want a party to celebrate with everyone. So we're going this route instead.”

“He's not doing the thing where he says 'Oh, do whatever you want, it's your day' deal?” Mary Margaret asked. “That's kind of nice. I always found that a little tiresome. I mean, marriage involves two people. In _this_ country,” she added. Ruby snorted.

“Well, I'm glad you're taking the step,” Ruby said. “How's your dad taking it?”

“Fine. He's going to do the flowers. He's more or less gotten over the fact I'm marrying the most despised man in Storybrooke.”

“Probably because you're lowering the despisement factor,” Ruby muttered. Mary Margaret flicked her sternly in the forearm.

“Anyway, I have to go,” Belle said. “I told my dad I'd help him in the shop today. Talk later, okay?”

“Yeah, we need to have breakfast and discuss your life choices anyway,” Ruby said. “You know. Because we're the boss of you.”

“Thanks,” Belle said dryly. “Alright. Love you guys, bye!”

“Bye!” they sang in unison. Mary Margaret reached over and made sure the phone hung up. “So,” she said. “Diner?”

“Yeah, diner.”

 

Ruby had been the first to leave Storybrooke. She'd been fed up with everything – her mother, her grandmother, just the very life in the town itself. At 20, she'd stalked off in a huff and moved to Boston. She'd tried college for a bit, before dropping out and enrolling in a technical school. At the moment she was working as a stylist at a place called Blemish, which suited her just fine. She got to pick and choose her own hours, it was good money, and she enjoyed the work.

Mary Margaret followed her a few years after. It was strange; they'd never been that close, really. They both were friends with Belle – Ruby moreso than Mary Margaret – so they came across each other often enough, but they were different. Mary Margaret was quiet, sweet-tempered, and shy; Ruby loudly announced herself wherever she went with her clothes and hair and attitude, she liked to go out, and she liked to show off a lot of skin.

But then something had happened in Storybrooke, involving Mary Margaret and a man named David Nolan – a married man. Disgraced and a pariah in town, Mary Margaret had decided to move to Boston, and at the time the only person she knew was Ruby.

So while they hadn't been close, they did have a long history of growing up in the same town together; and besides, Ruby never turned away someone in need, and her sympathies for the other woman ran deep. She'd been more than happy to let Mary Margaret crash on her couch, talk her through the heartbreak, help her find her footing. A few years on, it seemed crazy to them that they were as close as they were, now, when before they'd drifted around each other, assuming they'd had nothing in common. They'd found another apartment together, settled in, and it was a great life.

They rubbed off on each other, too. Mary Margaret had an inner feistiness that had finally come out around someone who supported its existence. And Ruby didn't feel pressured to conform to the reputation she'd gotten in Storybrooke – really, she'd just been bucking to get out and be on her own and didn't know how to express it – so she had more quiet nights in, didn't say yes to every pleasant distraction (read: man) she came across, and focused more on herself.

It seemed they'd sent an example, because it wasn't rare for people to head off to Boston and other places now, these days. Or for more people to go _to_ Storybrooke; one of the town deputies and Mary Margaret's former roommate was an outsider, hadn't grown up in Storybrooke at all.

As they sat down to breakfast (Ruby had ordered a bacon and cheese omelet with hash browns, Mary Margaret chocolate chip waffles, with a small platter of fruit between the two of them to share) one of those familiar faces walked into the diner.

Ruby was never quite sure about Victor Whale, probably because his presence in their lives was unusual. He was one of those people in Storybrooke that everyone knew but didn't really _know_ , and he had a reputation for stringing women along. Ruby had left before he arrived to start his residency at Storybrooke hospital, but that eventually put him in the path of Mary Margaret, one of the volunteers. It was only a matter of time before they went out.

And it had been a terrible date, because after awhile it became clear he wasn't really interested in Mary Margaret when, her friend said, 'I happened to open my mouth and talk'. And her friend had to admit, she didn't find him to be such a thrilling conversationalist either. But then David had happened.

So a lot of what Ruby knew about Victor was through Mary Margaret, since this was a drama that had played out while Ruby had been happily living her life in Boston. First, after a disastrous decision on her part to go after David, which ended in quiet failure, Mary Margaret had used Victor as a rebound. And it seemed to halfway work; she called, he sent flowers, but then they'd stalled which, Mary Margaret admitted, was entirely her fault. She couldn't get David out of her head. She couldn't resist being around him – and David, it seemed, couldn't resist her either, until everything had come out in the open.

The day Mary Margaret found 'tramp' spray-painted on her car was the day she no longer felt welcome in the place that had been her home for her entire life, and that had rocked her to the core. She'd tried to get everyone back, tried throwing herself in charity and fundraising for the local nuns, but the only person who'd bothered to help was Leroy, the town drunk. And they'd actually raised a lot of money, and yet...

In any case, quite a bit of dramatics later, it had been the former roommate Emma, and Leroy and Victor, who had helped Mary Margaret out when it came to her leaving Storybrooke behind. Ruby knew she had to be grateful to all of the people who had accidentally been involved in what was now a great friendship between her and Mary Margaret, even if it had a crummy origin story. So whenever she was around Victor, she was tolerant.

Turned out he was in Boston quite a lot, actually. He had friends and professional contacts here and he made the trip in regularly. She found him a bit annoying, and she also found it weird Mary Margaret was on such good terms with a failed relationship/one night stand/womanizing scoundrel, but she didn't kick up a fuss. Mary Margaret had to put up with far more shenanigans when _Ruby's_ Boston friends were concerned that Victor was a cakewalk.

“Hey!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, eyes lighting up. She pushed her chair back hurriedly so she could hug Victor. “What are you doing here!”

“Conference all weekend,” he said. His eyes were a little red-rimmed and he definitely seemed to have a hangover hovering around him (easy for Ruby to notice, since she was in the same boat) but at least he'd freshly showered and was wearing a clean suit. Ruby's nose had always been incredibly sharp, and she appreciated hygiene and the subtle use of cologne in men.

“I admit I came by since you basically haunt this place, but I didn't actually expect to see you here.”

“Why didn't you text me?”

“It was kind of last minute.”

Ruby popped a bite of omelet in her mouth. “Wanna sit down, you guys?” she asked, dryly. “My neck's starting to hurt.”

“Oh!” Mary Margaret laughed. “Sorry. Victor, do you wanna sit, or were you on your way somewhere...?”

“I actually came in for some coffee to go, and I don't want to interrupt, but...?”

“Nah, have a seat, friend,” Ruby said, motioning with her fork.

Since they were sitting at a booth, Victor slid in to sit next to Mary Margaret. He wasn't a ugly guy, nor was he a supermodel – he was actually just quite nice to look at, the sort of man who became more attractive the longer you looked at him. “Did you two do anything fun last night?” he asked.

“I drank a lot of whiskey, which was fun for the first bit,” Ruby admitted. “Mary Margaret started _hydrating_ at midnight, the witch.”

“You don't look too bad,” Victor said. “I mean, I've definitely seen you worse.”

“Thanks,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “ _You_ look like you and your doctor buddies were doing backwards tequila shots all night.”

“We did tequila shots but they were in the usual order.”

“What?” Mary Margaret asked, confused.

“Never mind,” they said.

“So you heard Mr Gold has managed to snag the famed beauty of Storybrooke?” Ruby asked. The waitress came by with another coffee cup, filling it up for Victor and asking if he wanted anything. After a polite _No thank you_ he raised his eyebrows at Ruby and grinned.

“I _did_ hear,” he said. “And the whole town is buzzing with it. No one thought Gold would ever stoop to proposing, and the town is divided on whether Belle is just trying to get a legal hold on his money, or he's taking advantage of her – everyone is _very_ concerned. Well, I'm not, but I'm not an idiot.”

Ruby snorted. “Ruby!” Mary Margaret said. “Don't be rude.”

“I'm not snorting at Victor, I'm snorting at everyone else,” Ruby protested, honestly. “I mean, you'd think they'd been sneaking around this whole time and it's a shock. And seriously, no one forces Belle to do anything she doesn't want to do. I think marriage is kind of pointless, but she loves him and he treats her right, so why would anyone get their panties in a twist over it?”

Victor saluted her with his coffee cup. He drank it black, and liked to tell Mary Margaret she was courting diabetes every time he watched her pour a hefty share of sugar into hers. “Exactly,” he said. “I know I'm a newcomer in town, but it all seems legitimate to me.”

“Are you going to the wedding?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I got a weird card in the mail, so I think so.”

“It's weird, right?” Ruby asked. “Can't they just email everyone?”

“The scoop is open bar, so you ought to be happy,” Mary Margaret said. It was unclear if she was talking to Victor or Ruby.

He lingered for about ten minutes more, and they caught up on all that was happening. A bit shamefaced, Ruby asked him how Granny's was doing. “Diner's pretty good, but the hotel is kind of shot at the moment,” he said. “I guess they're redecorating, I don't know.”

“That'll be my mom.” She sighed. Ruby's mother had abandoned her when she was little, then returned to Storybrooke when Ruby was sixteen. Suffice it to say, there was quite a bit of tension in the Lucas household.

Victor checked his watch and grimaced. “I better go if I'm going to make it,” he said. He started digging around in his pockets for change, but Mary Margaret slapped the back of his hand, saying _it's coffee, not a kidney transplant_.

Victor was just about to go, though, when he pivoted on his heel. “Wait!” he said, something apparently just occurring to him. And he was grinning about it. “People are bringing dates to this thing, right?”

“Yes, probably,” Mary Margaret said, blinking. Then she paled a little; it was obvious she was remembering David. “I... would you like to go with me? I can't go alone. Unless Ruby is my date?” she smiled across the table at her friend.

“No, I definitely don't want to be your date,” Victor said, cheerfully. Mary Margaret and Ruby blinked at him. “But this is just the opportunity I was waiting for. Let me set you up.”

Ruby coughed on her coffee, hard. Victor reached down and walloped her between the shoulders. She glared, but the coughing stopped.

Mary Margaret just stared, mouth agape. “What?” she asked, finally.

“He's a great guy, I met him in college,” Victor said, unperturbed by their reactions. “And he is _literally_ the polar opposite of David.”

“Oh, you mean he's not an asshole?” Ruby said dryly.

Victor gave her a top gun salute. “It's happening,” he said, starting to drift off. “Oh, and text me. We can go see a movie tonight. There's that new one with Natalie Dormer.”

“Victor!” Mary Margaret protested, trying to get out of the booth. But he was already out the door, looking superbly pleased with himself.

Ruby took another sip of coffee, to soothe her throat. “That is a weird man,” she said.

Mary Margaret speared a piece of strawberry with her fork, and sighed. “You have no idea,” she replied.


	2. intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title change! :D From the great song by the Black Keys (which appears in the very first episode of Once Upon A Time with Emma on screen, but it's a great Ruby song too, don't you think?)

On Wednesdays Ruby always worked a later shift, so it was Mary Margaret's job to see to dinner. Both of them had agreed not to complain about whatever their roommate produced for a meal, and to gamely eat at least one serving. Sometimes it meant pizza delivery, sometimes it meant an experimental quiche, sometimes it meant an accidentally overdone roast. They trusted each other to get the job done, splitting the week in half. Saturday was the swing day.

When she got home at seven she had arrived with a bottle of white wine, but the apartment smelt only of vanilla body lotion. “Mary, you home?” she called, before spotting her roommates' shoes by the front door. Frowning, she deposited her coat and peered around the corner into the living room.

Sure enough, there was Mary Margaret staring mopily out the window.

This had been a very frequent occurrence when Mary Margaret had first got to Boston, but she'd more or less grown out of it. Once every few months, though, she grew despondent. Ruby wouldn't call her friend dependent by any means – she didn't appear to crave a relationship – but she did crave connections and she had so many that had turned sour it was hard for her to stomach.

For her part, Ruby couldn't understand the men in this dumb city. Mary Margaret was ridiculously cute and pretty, kind, intelligent, and basically a total catch as far as Ruby was concerned. These guys Mary Margaret found had no idea what they had.

Victor Whale was one of them, of course, but there had been a single key difference between him and everyone else: he _knew_ Mary Margaret was great. Apparently he just hadn't wanted to waste her time, since they clearly had different goals in mind when it came to dates. Ruby didn't understand it, but Mary Margaret had appeared to forgive him – and Ruby had to admit that in any case he had been the only guy who had apologized for his behaviour.

“Hey,” Ruby greeted. “Want some wine?”

Mary Margaret started, looking over her shoulder. “Oh! You're home!” Her face fell, immediately, and Ruby knew her friend had just realized she had let time get away from her. “Sorry, I meant to order something. I bet you're hungry.”

“It's cool,” Ruby said. She was _starving_ , but she didn't want her friend to feel bad. “Let's order pizza and we can talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

Ruby raised her eyebrows; Mary Margaret sighed.

 

“I'm still so ashamed about what I did,” she confessed, as they pulled apart the pizza slices, trying to gather up the long strings of cheese. “I just don't know if I can go back there.”

“There's nothing Storybrooke can do to keep you out,” Ruby said, staunchly. “Come on. I'm definitely more in disgrace than you and I go back twice a year.”

“You never went after a married man.”

“Yeah, but everyone expects me to,” Ruby pointed out. “Look, reputations are stupid, we've both learned that, and they almost always have zero basis in our actual lives. We can be whoever we want. Besides, you'll have a man buffer, courtesy of Victor.”

“I _might_. We haven't met yet. It might not work out.”

“Then don't treat it like a romantic relationship,” Ruby suggested, eating an extra crispy piece of pepperoni off the top of her slice. “Just try to be friends with the guy. There's no harm in going to a wedding with a friend. Isn't that how you work, anyway? Attempted date with Victor turns into friendship, attempted friendship with David turned into, well, _dates_...”

Mary Margaret chewed thoughtfully. “I hadn't thought about it like that,” she said. “But that doesn't mean it's a pattern.”

“I think it means you should start out where you're comfortable and go from there,” Ruby argued. “When are you supposed to meet this guy?”

“Next month, I think. Victor's coming into town and then he'll introduce us.”

“Well then, we can all go out,” Ruby suggested. “Strength in numbers. I'll be your wing-woman.”

Mary Margaret looked at her, and then started to laugh. Ruby scowled. “What?”

“I was just thinking how you would be terrible to bring on a double date,” she said. “He'd spend the entire time looking at you, not me.”

Ruby didn't bother to argue; they both knew she drew more stares than Mary Margaret did just from the way she dressed. “Then you'll know right away if he's a keeper or not,” she said.

 

On Thursday, Ruby had a space between appointments, so she went out to grab coffee and a sandwich from the cafe across the street. She'd snagged a book from Mary Margaret's bookshelf last week – _Lolly Willowes_ , it was called, about a peculiar maiden aunt who moves to the country and becomes a witch – and she was rather enjoying it so far. Probably because Ruby could see the exact same thing happening to her.

As she was reading, though, her cell phone rang. Expecting it to be her boss asking if she could take a last minute appointment, she was surprised to see the GRANNYS caller ID. She sighed, but picked it up. Answering the phone was always better than dodging it.

“Hello?” she asked. It would be her mother or her Granny. She hoped it was the latter.

Thankfully, her wishes were answered. “Ruby, you're alive!” her grandmother chided. “Here I was thinking you were abducted.”

“Oh, come on, Granny, you know me,” Ruby said, easily. “I'm always the abducter, roaming the streets with my crew. What's up?”

“I just haven't heard from you in ages, that's all.”

“Granny,” Ruby repeated, dryly, not believing her. “ _What's up_.”

“When are you coming back to visit? I've forgotten what you look like.”

Ruby sighed. Normally she'd hedge, but she _was_ planning on heading back to Storybrooke soon. “I'm thinking of heading in, next month, actually,” she said. “I'm just waiting for Belle to get back to me. I want to help her a little bit with the arrangements.”

“Ah.” Granny's voice sounded brittle. She was never very fond of Mr. Gold, particularly because he was the world's prickliest landlord, or at least had been before Belle had gotten under his skin. Ruby felt like, besides Belle's father, Granny was probably the most annoyed at this turn of events. Belle had spent an awful lot of time at Ruby's house growing up, and Granny was rather fond of her.

Ruby wasn't about to remind her grandmother that Belle's life was her own. Instead she just went forward with the conversation before Granny could say anything regrettable. “What would be a good time for me to head in?” she asked. “If there's a convenient week for you...”

“No, don't think of it, girl,” Granny said. “I'm always happy to have you, whenever you can come by. Just give me a good head's up.”

“Okay.” She paused for a moment, deliberating. “How's mom?”

“She's fine.”

 _There_ , Ruby thought. _Now I don't have to ask about her for another six months_.

“See you soon, then,” she sang. “I gotta head back to work. I'll let you know when I decide.”

“Take care, girl.”

Ruby hang up, checking the time. Hurriedly she finished her sandwich and her coffee, regretting not being able to read more of her book before packing up to head back to the salon.

 

“Psst! Blanchard!”

Mary Margaret looked up from her desk. Hovering in the doorway was a very pretty, slender woman with short blonde hair. Tina Bell, who taught second grade, but everyone called her Tink due to her pleasant, bright way of speaking. Tink was also Australian, like Belle, so Mary Margaret had a special fondness for her, not that she ever voiced it.

“Hey Tink.” It was first recess; the kids were outside, their happy shouts filtering in through the windows. “I thought you had supervisor duty?”

“Nah, tomorrow.” Tink came in and plopped down on Mary Margaret's desk. As per usual, she didn't waste time with any preamble. “I wanted to ask you something. You're from Storybrooke, right?”

Mary Margaret blinked. “Yes?”

“Do you know Richard Gold?”

Mary Margaret had wasted her blink of confusion, and now she definitely didn't know how to react. “Well, yes,” she said. “Why?”

Tink looked impressed. “It's in the papers, you know,” she said. “The wedding.”

“No? _Really_?” Mary Margaret couldn't envision that, not after what Belle had said she and Richard were going for, wedding wise. Announcing it to the media didn't make sense. “It's not supposed to be a big deal, though.”

Tink nodded. “I used to work for his father,” she said. “To pay my way through college. He was just _awful_. I wouldn't be surprised if he's the one that announced it.”

Damn it. If there was one thing that could turn any wedding sour, it was future in-laws. Mary Margaret sighed. “My friend Belle is the one getting married,” she admitted, at which point Tink's eyes went about twice as wide.

“So you're going?”

“Well, yes, I sort of have to. Bridesmaid.”

“ _Don't_ let the papers find out, or they'll interrogate you within an inch of your life,” Tink cautioned. “When I worked for Gold's father, he was an absolute nightmare. _So_ self-involved. He'll do anything to make everything about him, even if it's bad. I think his son marrying a slip of a girl is definite media fodder.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” Mary Margaret said. “Thanks.”

“Hey, want to go for drinks next week?”

“I'm not sure...”

“Great, Thursday it is,” Tink announced brightly, as the bell rang. “Okay. See you later!”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but not with any serious feeling behind it. Tink reminded her of Ruby sometimes.

The next time she had a spare moment, she checked her phone. Sure enough, she didn't even have to look it up; Ruby and Belle had already set her separate links to the wedding article, with various disgruntled emojis accompanying them.

When it was just a Storybrooke affair she'd been concerned about showing up with a presentable date; now she _really_ hoped things would work out, or else risk being photographed alone and printed online for all to see. Damn it.


	3. drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Mary Margaret's point of view - I expected this story to be mostly Ruby, but Mary Margaret kind of pushed her way in. Next chapter will have lots of Ruby, though :3

It was Thursday, and Mary Margaret was half-hoping Tink had forgotten she had invited her out for drinks. As it was her fellow teacher didn't show up at all during the day, though mid-morning she had spied Tink chasing after a couple of miscreants caught drawing on the walls in the bathroom.

Once the day was over Mary Margaret lingered in her classroom, straightening up, taking a moment to go over her own plans for the day tomorrow. Tink probably _had_ forgot, she thought, with a sigh of relief, picking up her sweater and purse and heading for the door. She probably went home already.

But no, actually; she saw Tink out front, standing at the pick up area. She wasn't the only person waiting – older students, and younger students with chaperones or siblings – but it wasn't crowded, and the blonde had company. Mary Margaret was not a rude person, and so she headed over there to go see her friend and double check with her. (Really, if she truly didn't want to hang out with Tink, she could easily say so; she was just digging her heels in, approaching what Ruby called 'prime mope mode' where she eschewed contact with her peers.)

Tink was standing with what was presumably one of her students, a little girl in a dark blue sweater and light blue dress. They were holding hands, swinging them back and forth, and their happy talk reached Mary Margaret long before she reached them.

“Well, hello,” Tink said, with a big grin, as Mary Margaret approached. The little girl peered around and up at her, and Tink playfully shook her hand a little. “Grace, this is Miss Blanchard! She teaches fourth grade.”

“Hello,” the girl said, politely, but she was smiling, and Mary Margaret did not find it difficult to smile back.

“Nice to meet you, Grace,” she said. “Is Miss Bell waiting with you until someone comes and gets you?”

“Mommy can't pick me up today,” Grace said, shrugging. “But that's okay. That means I get to spend the afternoon with Daddy.”

“You sure do,” Tink said, with a smile. “And I'm here to make sure you don't get kidnapped by someone.”

“Tink!” Mary Margaret scolded.

“What?” the blonde asked, laughing. “Those are _literally_ the words right out of her father's mouth.” Grace nodded, solemnly.

“I'm definitely not allowed to be kidnapped,” she said.

“Definitely not,” Tink echoed. “Oh, look! Is that his car?”

“Yes!”

Mary Margaret watched the little girl, amused but also a bit saddened at how excited she looked. She was no stranger to this; judging by the girl's reaction, this looked like divorce, with custody firmly on the mother's side. Tink would likely tell her the whole thing once they were gone, but she didn't need much confirmation beyond the way the girl's father jumped out of his car and walked around to the sidewalk.

“Sorry!” he was exclaiming. “This was kind of last minute- Hey!” He opened his arms wide and Grace threw herself into them.

“Ah, I figured,” Tink said dryly, grinning. While father and daughter embraced, she glanced over her shoulder at Mary Margaret and quirked an eyebrow. Knowing exactly what she was trying to say, Mary Margaret ignored her.

Adorable fathers were not rare when you were a teacher, but Mary Margaret had to admit that this man was a killer. He had thick dark hair and viciously bright blue eyes; and, even picking up his daughter in a big hug, bundling her to his chest, he cut a very sleek figure.

“Thanks, Tink,” he said over Grace's shoulder, and that surprised Mary Margaret; usually the parents called her 'Miss Bell'; the more serious ones liked to frown as they said it. “I just got the message a half hour ago.”

“It's not a problem,” Tink said, waving her hand in dismissal. “She's great company.”

Grace turned around in her father's arms; Mary Margaret watched in some amusement as he did his best not to drop her. “That's Miss Blanchard,” she told him, pointing.

“Don't point, Grace.”

“Sorry. She teaches fourth grade.”

He smiled at her, and Mary Margaret blushed. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

“And you,” he said. “Maybe she'll be your teacher in a couple years, hey, Grace?”

“She's a good one,” Tink said, smirking. Unfortunately, Mary Margaret was too far away to elbow her friend. “Anyway, we should probably leave you to it. See you tomorrow, Grace!”

She hooked her arm around Mary Margaret and started to pull her away before she could find out anything more. She was about to get annoyed at Tink, but then decided to take advantage of the new position to elbow her.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You know why,” Mary Margaret grumbled.

Tink just laughed. “I like looking at him, that's all. You can't tell me you didn't as well.”

“Well – no.”

The blonde let out a gusty sigh. “His ex-wife must be mad,” she said. Mary Margaret didn't say anything. When it came to husbands and wives, she did her best not to have an opinion anymore. It just got her into trouble.

 

At Tink's suggestion, Mary Margaret called Ruby. Her shift at the salon wasn't finished for another hour, but she was so eager to come along that Mary Margaret supposed she could wait. It would mean a later evening, but that wasn't so bad. Besides, she knew that if she tried to complain about that, Ruby would point out she was just making excuses (and Ruby would be totally correct, and Mary Margaret hated to ignore logic when it was right in front of her.)

Once Mary Margaret had gone home and changed into another blouse, put on a small amount of makeup, and picked a pair of high heels, the group had grown. By the time they got to the restaurant there was a good half dozen of them there. Tink had brought along her friends Killian and Robin; Ruby had invited Mulan and Aurora, but only Mulan was available. Mary Margaret was slightly (and guiltily) grateful for that, since Aurora was a bit of a pessimist; her favourite conversational tactic was to complain unless someone artfully steered her in another direction.

“We ordered appetizers,” Tink announced. They'd procured a table running along a benched wall; Tink was squeezed comfortably between Robin and Killian on the padded leather seating. Ruby and Mary Margaret took two of the chairs opposite; they'd left Mulan at the bar with drink orders.

“Great!” Ruby enthused. “I'm starving.”

“Good to see you, lass,” Killian replied, and Ruby grinned wolfishly and winked at him. Whenever Ruby expressed her puzzlement at Mary Margaret's friendship with Victor, Mary Margaret always pointed out how Ruby had slept with Killian once and they were still friends. “That's different,” Ruby would huff. “He wasn't a dick to me on our first date.”

“You didn't _have_ a first date.”

“Semantics.”

Killian was over-flirtatious bordering on inappropriate – he made Victor look subtle – but at least if you gave him a good whack in the arm he would retreat. Tink and Killian were thick as thieves, though, having grown up together, and Tink was a queen at keeping him in line.

Mulan arrived, holding two mugs of beer in one hand and an extra dirty martini in the other. “ _Thank_ you,” Ruby exclaimed happily, as the martini was handed over. Mary Margaret smiled as Mulan placed a beer in front of her and took the chair beside her.

“Good to see you, Mulan,” Robin said, pleased. They immediately lapsed into talk about Mulan's latest self defence class.

The evening passed by pleasantly. Mary Margaret found herself shouldering Ruby on the walk home. She would be tired in the morning for school, but she didn't mind. That was what friends were for; and that was especially what _Ruby's_ friends were for.

Arms hooked together, they wove down the sidewalk. Ruby was pressed close, close enough that it was easy to smell the cherry blossom scent of her shampoo. “Hey,” Ruby murmured. “Sorry about this. I know you work in the morning.”

For a moment Mary Margaret felt overwhelmingly grateful and unworthy for this beautiful woman who had consented to be her friend – who would defend her through thick and thin, no matter the cost. She gave Ruby a little shake. “It's not a problem,” she said. It was a small price to pay to have a champion in her corner. “You'll have to walk me home next time.”

“Deal. Can we stop for food?”

“We're almost home, Ruby. I'll make you a grilled cheese.”

“You're the best.”

Ruby snuggled close. They made it home without incident, though Ruby tripped on her own shoes once they got in the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of characters mentioned! I've no idea how frequent they'll be, but I'm definitely keeping many of them in mind for future shenanigans ;3


	4. checking in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby heads to Storybrooke and reconnects with friends, acquaintances - and, unfortunately, family.

Storybrooke was only a couple of hours away, which meant that Ruby was more inclined than usual to mooch around home and put off leaving. Unfortunately, at around eleven Mary Margaret called, presumably on her lunch break. “You should go now, Ruby,” she said, sympathetically. “Or you'll show up during dinner.”

Which meant, of course, that Granny's would be packed, everyone would be out and about looking for a new source of gossip – no, Ruby didn't want that. So with a sigh she packed the last of her things into her weekend duffel, then headed out to get her car from the underground parking.

Ruby couldn't leave her car anywhere but a secure garage – it was a classic 1972 charger, and since arriving in Boston it had been stolen one too many times. She'd always find it sooner rather than later, stripped for parts, and then she would have to shell out money to get it fixed up again. She supposed that the one great things about Storybrooke was that she never had to worry about leaving her car parked on the street.

When it came to visits home one of two things was always true: trips to Storybrooke always felt like more of a chore than it ended up being, or the exact opposite. It was just impossible to discover which it would be until she had the town firmly in her rear-view mirror.

And then, of course, she never knew when the visit would just be flat-out disastrous.

After she rolled into town, she parked in the almost always vacant spot in front of the hotel, wondering if she would be able to see the trouble that Victor had mentioned and Granny sometimes hinted at. But from the outside it looked the same as usual. Her mother's car was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't a huge deal. In Storybrooke, especially as spring entered full force, walking wasn't such a rare commuting choice. Who knew where she was keeping her car, if she even still had it?

Granny first, Belle second, and her mom hopefully never. Tense, she got out and locked the car doors out of habit from living in Boston, and walked around the side of the building, not bothering to try the hotel door. The hotel and the diner were back to back, each looking out on a different block; the diner stared out onto the main street. Stepping past the outdoor tables, which looked freshly dusted off for spring, she opened the glass door and stepped into the diner.

There was her Granny, at the walk-up counter, wiping it down with long, practised strokes of her dishcloth. Ruby had to admit, the way Granny's face lit up when she saw her – it was always worth the drive, no matter if they ended up quarrelling or not. Her grandmother was a stern woman, playing her feelings close to the chest, but Ruby could always read her – and the way the old woman's mouth twitched up in a smile, her eyes brightening, might have been subtle to someone else, but they were clear as day to her.

The person standing at the counter turned on her heel and smiled in greeting as well. Emma Swan – Sheriff Swan now, actually, according to recent promotion – was an odd duckling, sometimes so shielded it was hard to tell whether she was happy or sad. Ruby just couldn't tell sometimes if Emma found her annoying or actually liked her, so she did her best not to stew over it. She had been Mary Margaret's old roommate, after all, and had been supportive when most hadn't; that was a big hint to her true colours and Ruby was fine in trusting it.

“Ah, there you are,” Granny said, with a smile, as Ruby moved to circumnavigate both Emma and the counter to give the older woman a hug. “Dressed up like the fourth of July, as usual.”

Ruby was about to open her mouth in challenge – was she being playfully teased or criticized? - but surprisingly, Emma ran interference. “Yeah, you look good, Ruby,” she said. “Hard to believe you were just stuck in a car for a few hours. That's quite the talent.”

“Ha,” Ruby said, dryly. “I've never seen you anything but immaculate after a road trip to Boston, Emma. Here for a grilled cheese? Bit late for lunch, isn't it?”

“Sheriff Swan has a nasty habit of losing track of the time,” Granny said, sternly, surveying the blonde over the top of her glasses. “And she needs more than a sandwich, if you ask me.”

Ruby tapped her palms lightly against the counter. “Make it two grilled cheeses, and the soup for us, then,” she said, pleasantly. “We'll have it to stay.”

“No, I really-” Emma protested, but Granny steamrolled her. “Good,” she said, with a huff. “Go and sit down, girls. Especially you, Emma, you need a rest.”

Emma looked like she was still going to put up a fight, but underneath the counter Ruby put a quelling hand on her wrist. “Come on, it'll get her off your back for a bit,” she whispered, with a grin. “And if you've got somewhere to be I won't keep you long because I have to drop by Belle's anyway. But come on, _do_ you? I didn't notice any fires or lost dogs. And don't you want to know how Mary Margaret's doing?”

Emma sighed, but she had a little smile hovering on her lips. “Okay, fine,” she said. “Just because I really want that sandwich.”

“Uh-huh,” Ruby said, dryly, tugging the blonde towards the window seat.

 

After lunch, which was blissfully free of gossip – Emma wasn't the sort – they parted ways and Ruby headed over to the pawn shop. She'd been in there enough times before to be comfortable, because she'd always had a weakness for vintage jewellery. She remembered saving up every dime she could for months when she was sixteen, just to buy a necklace. She still had it.

Belle wasn't in, but her betrothed was. When she was younger he had been a terrifying presence, but these days Ruby was used to him. She knew some people would never be able to get over the mistrust of the man who owned most of the town, including her own Granny, but Ruby wasn't one of them. These days he was just the town eccentric, romantically interested in the town's other eccentric.

“Ah, Miss Lucas,” Gold said, looking up from where he was carefully cataloguing the inventory in one of the glass countertops. The shop was full to bursting with antiques, but it was always immaculately organized. If there was one thing he shared with Belle, it was the OCD. “You made it in after all. I take it you're searching for Belle, unless you plan to give me a stern talking-to first?”

“Nah, just Belle,” Ruby said, stooping down to look at an array of rings on display further down the counter. “I thought I'd try here first. Have you got her locked up somewhere? The village gossip is suggesting it.”

“I do believe you're making that up.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“I'd check the library, if I were you.”

Just in case, Ruby dropped in at the Game of Thorns, but Belle's father confirmed the library suggestion, so she headed over in that direction. By then the local school had gotten out and the town was starting to become lively; Ruby was glad to escape into the stillness of the library.

Her friend's presence was announced by the click of a pair of stilettos, and then Ruby's friend rounded a corner, holding a pair of books in one arm. Belle wasn't very tall, but her penchant for terrifyingly high shoes meant most people didn't notice that fact.

“There you are!” Belle exclaimed, and Ruby pulled her friend close in a hug. For a moment, Ruby herself was surprised by the onslaught of emotion she felt; it had only been a few months since she had seen Belle last, and yet, suddenly, it felt like it had been forever.

“I missed you so much,” Ruby said finally, giving her friend an extra squeeze before letting go.

Belle smiled, the expression making her whole face seem to glow. In swift, practised movements, she shelved the books she had been holding, barely needing to glance at where she was putting them. She knew the library better than her own manicure. “I'm so happy you're finally here,” she said. “It's been a madhouse with the wedding.”

The sound of the door opening and shutting, and giggling, caught their attention. Belle put her hands on her hips and had a stern expression ready when the two culprits rounded the corner; the children immediately hushed, shamefaced, and edged towards the tables. Belle dropped the act as soon as they weren't looking, smiling at Ruby and shaking her head.

“Come on, I'll make tea,” she said.

 

Belle wasn't the only librarian in Storybrooke, but she _was_ the official caretaker for the library, and as such had access to the small apartment above it. It was an adorable spot, looking out onto the town from underneath the clock tower, and was actually rather roomy. Belle living in the library had seemed like a natural progression after spending so much of her school years hidden among the stacks.

Belle kept her space neat and organized, which meant that there was a large section of her space devoted just to her shoes. Ruby suspected it was Belle's relationship with Gold that kept her in hearty supply of stilettoes and slingbacks, because she thought she recognized a pair or two from the front windows of high-end shops in Boston.

“How was the drive?” her friend asked, pouring hot water into the already warmed teapot.

“More or less the same as usual. How's your day been?”

“I got up early to help dad in the shop,” Belle said, mildly. Ruby was always impressed with Belle, who was so quietly competent; she helped at the flower shop, worked steadily at the library, and could often be seen in her fiance's antique shop smiling at customers while Gold was doing the accounts (or vice versa; it was clear things were serious the moment Gold allowed Belle access to the financials). She wasn't someone to whom inertia came easily. “He's a good deal less grumpy these days.”

“Gold probably seems a lot more pleasant in comparison when _you_ _r_ dad gets to see how _his_ dad is,” Ruby said, without thinking. Belle turned on her heel, still holding the kettle, raising her eyebrows. Ruby blushed. “I just meant-”

But Belle smiled, diffusing any thoughts of awkwardness. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Richard... hasn't really been happy about this turn of events, either.”

“What's he like?”

“Richard's father?” Belle paused, obviously weighing her words carefully. Ruby had never known her friend to speak ill of anyone, but she was also very honest, with herself and with others. “He's... very self-motivated.”

“So a selfish bastard?”

Belle sighed, pulling out mugs for the tea, and starting to plate some cookies. Half of them were the cream-filled sandwich type with the jam centre, one of Ruby's favourites. “He thinks whatever is Richard's is also his,” she said. “That's why he moved to Storybrooke and started his own business, away from his father's... I don't know if you know, but the Gold family is really rich. Richard built his estate on his own, though. He didn't want anything of his father's.”

Ruby had gathered as much from the newspaper articles on the engagement (reading them was weird, like it was about someone else and not her friend and her fiance) but she just nodded. “That's really cool of him, though. But it sucks that it's interfering with the wedding. Has the future dad-in-law tried to get involved yet?”

“Oh, absolutely. But my maid of honour is the toughest person in town. It should be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ruby had to doubt the solidarity of most of the townsfolk; but Belle just smiled.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I know what I'm doing. I picked the best person for the job.”

 

They sat and talked for a long while, just catching up – they texted and called each other often, but still somehow it was like they could never say enough. Ruby missed being able to talk to Belle all the time whenever she wanted, and getting married would probably make those occurrences even rarer. But that was life; and besides, she still had Mary Margaret.

Eventually, though, nighttime was rolling around, and Belle had promised her evening to Gold. So Ruby bid her goodbye, promised to stop by the library first thing in the morning, and headed out. The sun had set but the streetlights were already lit, and there was more than enough light to see by as she walked back towards Granny's.

She stopped for a moment on the sidewalk, looking back the way she came, considering. Should she go back around to her car and get her stuff, get her room set up before going in to dinner? Maybe she would be able to track down Ashley. It had been a year since her friend had stopped working as a maid and all-around pair of hands for the bed and breakfast, but she was known to drop by and help out Granny when Sean was available to watch their daughter and give Ashley a break.

No, probably better to grab dinner first, send a few texts, and give Granny a hand. She turned back towards the diner, and slammed right into someone.

Ruby yelped, bouncing back, because whoever it was was solidly built. She almost toppled to the ground, but a gloved hand grasped her wrist firmly, but gently, and pulled her upright.

“Alright, sister?” he asked. He seemed to realize who she was right as she figured out who he was.

Leroy, the town drunk – well, no, actually. He didn't seem drunk to her just then. He was a grumpy man, always had been. She had no idea how old he was, just that he used to frighten her when she was younger because he was so mean, and then she started to like him.

It was Belle's fault. She always went out of her way to be nice to him, and he had warmed up to her, acting like some kind of older brother. And he'd helped Mary Margaret out, too, when she was in trouble. Drinking or no drinking, he was a nice guy deep down, and Ruby appreciated that.

“Hi, Leroy!” she said. “It's good to see you. Mary Margaret sends a hundred kisses and a thousand hugs.”

“She would. How is my girl doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Ruby said, with a little wiggle of her shoulders. “I keep her on the straight and narrow.” Leroy laughed so hard and deeply at that, she wasn't sure if she should be offended or amused. She settled for the latter. “Want to grab dinner?” she asked, hopefully. She and Leroy weren't close, but when it came to the rest of the town, she viewed a lot of her acquaintances more fondly than people she'd known her whole life. Those were the people who seemed to take her seriously, and were therefore worthwhile.

But Leroy shook his head. “Afraid I can't,” he said. “I've got night shift at the hospital. Go have an extra beer for me, though.”

“I will,” she singsonged, walking past him.

“And watch where you're going next time!” he shouted at her. Ruby stretched her arms up, as if she couldn't be damned, then flipped him the bird. She could hear his laughter all the way up to the diner front door.

Ruby's smile dropped off her face as soon as she walked in the door and saw her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Here you are, with more to come soon. The computer where I had this chapter stored was refusing to turn on, hence the lengthy wait. >.> I know, I know, I need to back my shit up.  
> Ruby is back in Storybrooke! Shenanigans, they will ensue. So will more characters - Emma is going to have a pretty strong presence, along with some others. (When I write longer stories with pairings, I rarely focus on just the pairings and I like to explore other characters and build the story up that way. Hurrhurrhurr).  
> Anyway, I always feel silly writing author's notes, so Ima shut up now.


	5. dramatics

Anita Lucas. She had a riot of dark hair, smouldering eyes, and a smile that had too much teeth in it. Ruby had old, old memories of her mother, memories that helped Ruby understand that she never came from money. She used to sleep in the same bed as Anita. Anita would tuck them both in and she would sing, softly, beautiful melodies that often had no words. Ruby would softly go to sleep, feel as if she were falling into a deep, peaceful ocean.

The change didn't happen suddenly. There were memories after of Ruby standing next to her Granny, helping her make pancakes. Arranging her three stuffed toys on the creaky bed that smelt like the inside of a cold wooden closet, understanding that this was her bed for whenever she got to visit Granny. And then, of course, the day where it became her bed forever because her mother had dropped her off, tearfully kissed her on the top of her head, and then never came back.

Sometimes Ruby thought about her childhood and felt a small, terrified tremble. She had been so lonely. The other children thought she was weird. But then there had been Ashley, just like her, displaced and lonely, brutally teased by her stepsisters. And then the French family had moved to town. Ruby grew.

She didn't consider herself a delicate person, but her mother got under her skin. How did Granny deal with it? How _could_ she deal with it? Granny clearly would never turn away her own daughter, but Ruby had no problems turning away her own mother.

“Ruby, there you are!” Anita exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her.

Without thinking, almost in a blind panic, she held up her arms. Her mother stopped short, confusion on her face. _Why are you confused?_ Ruby wanted to shout. _I don't want you. You didn't want me and now I don't want you!_

“Are you okay, honey?” Anita asked, with a frown.

At the counter, Granny was hovering. Her grandmother, normally so stalwart and firm, was wringing a dish towel in her hands, giving her nerves away. “Come sit down, girl,” she said. “You want the cobb salad?”

“I'm not hungry,” Ruby said, automatically. She hated how sulky that made her sound, but she couldn't stop herself. It was hard for her to tell when or if she was overreacting; it just seemed like she couldn't understand her own feelings. Sometimes, her mother did nothing but make her feel coldly annoyed, if she felt anything at all. At others, it felt like a hot dagger was twisting its way into her heart. Mary Margaret told her not to worry about or over-think how she was feeling; families did that to one another, and it was okay to be upset.

Still, her friend's comforting words in the past did little to help the present situation.

Anita took her hand and drew her towards the counter. Ruby knew she was being stared at by the handful of patrons in the diner, so she sat down at the counter and allowed her mother to sit next to her.

“The cobb?” her grandmother asked again, insistently.

“Burger,” she said, flatly. “Bloody.”

“I'll get that too,” Anita said.

Ruby closed her eyes. She loved her mother and hated her, but were both those feelings in equal measure, or was one stronger than the other? She had a hard time gauging.

  


“We should talk,” Anita had said. “Here, let's get your room ready. Your old room is being redone. We're redecorating the whole place, did mom tell you? Anyway, one of the redone suites is available for you. We just need to put down some fresh sheets.”

“I have to go meet Ashley,” Ruby said, flatly. “We haven't seen each other in ages.”

The second part was true, but as for the first part, she had no idea if Ashley was free – with the baby and Sean's chaotic work schedule, it was difficult to settle on anything until last minute. She meant to send a text or make a call and see, but that was before she realized she'd be sitting down with her mother, all of her movements monitored and dissected.

But Anita just smiled, encouragingly, and covered Ruby's hand with hers. Ruby was still, forcing herself not to make a scene by ripping her hand away. “Then we'll talk when you come back,” she said. Ruby decided she would stay out as long as possible, even if it was a weeknight and the town would be as silent as the grave. Fuck it; she had nowhere to be in the morning, anyway, or at least, nowhere she couldn't stumble to if need be.

  


Ashley was indeed busy with the baby, so Ruby was on her own. She didn't bother to change her clothes, put on lipstick, or do anything besides make sure she hadn't got any food on her skintight jeans. Her hair was a bit messy, her eyeliner had gone a bit runny, and her only admittance to last minute grooming was slapping on another coat of deodorant and freshening up her lip gloss. In that state, she wandered out to the Rabbit Hole.

Ruby had been drinking in the Rabbit Hole since before she was legally old enough to do so – the wonder of small towns – and she liked it not for its atmosphere but simply for the fact it wasn't the diner. To her previous small town sensibilities it had been wondrous, magical, cosmopolitan – decorated with tree branches strung with coloured lights, where drinks were served up in wide-brimmed martini glasses. It was a popular watering hole not just for Storybrooke but for residents in the nearby small towns who came for a change of pace (Ruby, herself, had often driven twenty minutes out to the next town in her youth for a taste of anonymity, sleeping overnight in her car).

It had been a long time since she had been there, but the bartender recognized her, and smiled at her. He asked her why she wasn't all dressed up as usual, but she ignored him – it was none of his business – and ordered a beer.

Her only goal was to waste time. She would sit there, and drink, and play pool, until it was closing time. Then maybe she would go for a walk in the dark streets, or sit out and look at the stars. Then, maybe, meandering home could be an option.

She set up the pool table, and after some time she was joined by Mr Clark, the pharmacist. He seemed content to just watch her play on her own (a bit badly, because she was a few tequila shots in), but since he wasn't being creepy about it, Ruby felt comfortable asking him if he'd like to join her in a game. Being friendly came naturally to her, and besides, there was no reason to be shy to the man who'd been filling her birth control prescriptions for years.

Halfway through the second game her phone rang, at which point Mr Clark excused himself to get them both another round of drinks. Ruby was comforted that anywhere else she might have been wary or paranoid her drink might arrive with an unhealthy dose of drugs, but this was Storybrooke, and Mr Clark was about as shifty as a brick wall. Even if there was someone untrustworthy around to think about trying anything, Ruby had a reputation for boldness, and everyone was aware she knew the sheriff personally.

“Ruby.” It was Mary Margaret, of course, checking in. “I got your text.”

“Which one?” Ruby said dryly.

“The one that just said 'mom' and had about seven skull emojis.”

“There was a knife and a flame in there, too.”

“You drinking?”

“A little.”

“Are you being safe?”

“Come on, Mary, it's _Storybrooke_. But yes, Mr Clark is babysitting me.”

Mary Margaret snorted.

“I'm at the Rabbit Hole,” Ruby added. “Just playing pool. I just... I want to avoid her. My mom.”

“You should schedule a sit with Dr Hopper.”

“You,” Ruby said, snidely, “be quiet.”

“Sorry.” Mary Margaret sounded genuinely heartfelt. “I'm about to go to bed and I was just worried. Do you know when you're coming back home?”

“At this rate, I won't last another day.”

“Well, let me know when. I could come down too, if you want?”

Ruby understood the gesture for what it was, and sighed. If Mary Margaret felt worried enough that she was offering to come back into Storybrooke after her self-exile, sans any armour, then Ruby was clearly making this into too big a deal. “It's fine, really,” she said, assuredly. “I just want space. So I'm going to chill here for a bit and hopefully when I go home, everyone will be in bed and I can just go to sleep.”

  


After two games of pool, Mr Clark had to leave – work in the morning. She supposed it was better that the pharmacy actually opened on time tomorrow. She bought herself a few more drinks, played a couple more rounds of pool, then settled down to play at the VLTs. Every now and then a man approached her, and every time she dismissed him.

She left at closing time, once the lights came on and the manager turned off the music. She drained the last of her beer, picked up her coat, and stumbled out into the night.

It was beautiful; cold and chilly, just perfect, with the stars glinting in the night sky. She closed her eyes for a moment as she walked, swaying on her heels, breathing in the clear air.

So what if she had issues with her mother? The world was beautiful and she had a front seat. She had friends who loved her, a career she enjoyed, a grandmother she could count on even when they fought. That was more than a lot of people had.

She had a bed to sleep in... an awesome car... great hair... money for the things she needed... her head was swimming, heavily, pleasantly. She'd drunk a lot, but had spaced it out (as well as snacked on some chicken fingers and potato wedges), so while she was too drunk to walk a straight line, she certainly wasn't sick. Yet, anyway.

She wandered around to the hotel door, digging her keys out of her purse and letting herself in. She moved slowly, achingly so, not wanting to accidentally slam the door or fall up the stairs, as had happened before.

To her sadness, she realized about halfway up the stairs she was attempting to get into her old room – the one she kept as her own since she started living with Granny, the one that was currently being redecorated. Muttering drunkenly to herself at how the times change, Ruby turned and shuffled up another flight, turning around in a few corridors, before finding the suite that had been set up for her.

It was pretty nice, Ruby had to admit. There was a clear war between Granny's old lady country sensibilities and her mother's apparent fondness for seaside charm, but it managed to mould together nicely. Ruby could only imagine how much arguing had taken place to settle on this theme until both were happy with the result. Now, Victor's mention that the hotel hadn't been doing as good business as the diner was making sense – half the rooms had likely been unavailable to guests for months, which would have slowed business considerably.

She had just turned on the bedside lamp, sat down on her bed and was about to pry her boots off when she heard a knock on the door.

Damn it. Had her mother been laying in wait? Or were Ruby's footsteps louder than she thought?

Warily, she took out the bolt and opened it. Sure enough, there was Anita, in an infuriatingly pretty housecoat. “There you are, honey,” she said, smiling.

That set Ruby's teeth on edge. Why was her mother so obsessed with acting like some bohemian mixture of a 1990s feminist and a 1960s housewife? “I'm just going to bed,” she said. “So.”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“I'm just going to bed,” Ruby repeated, flatly.

And there it was; at three in the morning, away from the crowd in the diner, the perfect mask Anita wore cracked. It showed in her eyes first, the velvety kindness starting to burn away. “Ruby,” she said, calmly, thought Ruby could hear the underlying steel in her mother's voice. “I'd like to speak with you. It's been some time since we had a proper talk.”

“It can wait until morning.”

Morning, when Ruby would sneak out, go somewhere public, and Anita was forced to act sweet as honey for the onlookers. They both knew that was Ruby's game plan, and her mother clearly wasn't having any of it.

“It really can't,” Anita said. “Now, you can let me in, or we can talk here.”

“Listen,” Ruby said. “I'm drunk. I can't handle you right now. Can't you write it in a letter and give it to me? That would be easier.”

Anita's perfect lips thinned into a scowl the minute Ruby said 'handled'. “ _Ruby_ ,” she growled. “You listen to me. I am your mother-”

“Like _Hell_ you are!” Ruby blurted out. “I had a mom once and she fucked off! I don't know what _you_ are, except in the way of me getting a decent night's sleep.”

“Ha!” Anita laughed, scornfully. “As if you don't drive _me_ up the wall? You're selfish, Ruby. You ran off and left your grandmother in her old age to fend for herself, and I have to give up my own dreams to help her out. And what are you doing? Larking around Boston, sleeping with God knows who, living with a home wrecker, and on your first night in town in months, instead of wanting to spend it with your own flesh and blood you're off wasting money at the bar-”

Ruby slammed the door, so quickly and so forcefully she heard her mother yelp, as Anita had likely had to jump back to avoid getting hit on the nose. Ruby locked the door, then swiped on the chain. There. Even with the master key, her mother would have to get bolt cutters if she wanted to continue that conversation.

Of course, it wasn't as easy as that. Anita began yelling and hammering on the door. God. Were there other guests in the hotel who could hear the ruckus? No doubt her Granny was about to be roused any minute to see what the fuss was about. And of course, _of course_ , it would all be Ruby's fault for refusing to talk to her mother, for locking herself in her room and letting Anita carry on instead of trying to diffuse the situation. She would be irresponsible, immature, unloving.

Ruby looked at herself in the mirror, dimly lit by the bedside lamp. “There's only one thing to do, Red,” she said to her reflection, solemnly. She walked over to the window and opened it, looking out.

In the glow of the streetlights and the bright, heavy moon, Ruby could see the lower roof. Maybe it was over the breakfast nook, maybe a sitting room; with the remodelling who knew? But the roof was there. And below, the ground.

The pounding and shouting and racket was getting louder. “Yes,” Ruby mumbled to herself, as she attempted to climb out the window with some measure of grace. “Maybe I am immature. And irresponsible. And unloving. But logic! Logic, Red, says that if I am not in the room, I cannot be responsible for anything. That makes sense, right?”

She just needed to get the Hell out of there. She couldn't stand to hear her mother's shrieking any longer.

She eased herself out, leaning back, holding her hands beneath her to balance on the roofing. She didn't want to knock any tiles loose. Carefully, she slid down until her questing boot found the gutter. It would be a one storey drop, not so bad. She'd snuck out of the hotel before, of course, from just such a level, many times during her youth. She knew what she was doing.

“Oh God,” she said aloud, suddenly, the realization dawning on her. “I am so drunk.”

Then she shrugged to herself. Too late now.

Sliding lower down the angled roof, she let her legs dangle over the sides. Looking down at the dark ground, eyes getting accustomed to the dimness, she nodded to herself as if to galvanize her actions. Muscles tense, she rolled over onto her stomach and then slid back, further down, until she was dangling bodily over the edge from her ribcage down. She took a deep breath, then dropped so that for a moment she was only clinging by her hands, and then she let go, landing in a crouch.

It would have been fine if it weren't for the fact that she landed at a slight angle on the uneven spring turf, stumbled to the side, and her foot went into a hole, an animal burrow of some sort. She gasped, a terrible, _tearing_ sensation ringing through her leg. She took one more step, then fell hard, collapsing flat out in the bushes.

She laid there for a moment, her leg throbbing, blinded for a moment by the pounding in her head. There was dirt in her mouth and something twiggy in her eye. She shifted, tried to glance over her shoulder, but saw only bushes and darkness. She could only hope she was completely obscured from view, because that was embarrassing as Hell.

Ruby did the only thing she could think to do. She dug her phone out of her pocket and called 911.


	6. here comes the saviour

She'd been laying in the bushes for some time, but probably no longer than twenty minutes. For one thing, apparently someone had called in a domestic disturbance due to Anita's shouting, so Emma was already on her way there. For another, Ruby did disclose she was at the hotel where the so-called 'disturbance' was taking place, so Emma probably thought that the two phone calls for help were linked. And they were, just not in the way Emma would be expecting.

As she heard the famous yellow bug pulling up, and the car door swinging shut, and the boots coming up the path, Ruby called out, gently, “Over here.”

“Ruby?” Emma's voice came from somewhere around the side of the house.

Then Ruby heard the front door open, and her Granny saying, “I'm so sorry, Sheriff. It was a false alarm.”

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Emma asked, suspiciously.

“No, it's fine. A family squabble, I promise.”

“Is, uh, Ruby okay?”

“Shut up in her room. Her mother is calmed down. Everything's fine. Do I need to fill out a report?”

“No, it's alright. Don't worry about it, Granny.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then the door shut. Ruby heard Emma coming around the other side of the building.

“Here,” Ruby called, helpfully.

“I can't see you- hold on.” There was a click and a flashlight beam skittered somewhere to Ruby's right.

“To your right!” she called. “I mean – oh, wait. Your left?”

Since she no longer needed to remain still (in her mind, Ruby could not be detected by anyone but Emma, but now that her rescuer was here, everything would be fine) she began to roll around, trying to get onto her back through the bushes, wincing at the pain in her ankle and trying to ignore the swooping feeling between her temples.

“Ruby,” Emma sighed, pushing aside the branches. “Why are you in the bushes? You said you needed help.”

“I do.”

Emma had the decency not to flash the light into Ruby's eyes. “Ruby-”

“ _Why_ do you keep saying my name?”

“Did you climb out the window?”

Ruby looked up, to see Emma was doing the same, scrutinizing the window. Which was still open. “Ah, shit,” Ruby said. “I forgot to close it.”

“Did you climb out the window, get hurt, and then dial 911?” the blonde asked, exasperated.

Ruby opened her mouth to protest, but, really – well, that's exactly what happened. Guilt prickled the corners of her eyes.

“You realize I have an actual job and I'm not here to rescue cats out of trees or drunk girls from their responsibilities?” she went on.

Ruby cleared her throat, suddenly afraid she would cry out of shame. She felt so _stupid_. If she'd been sober she would have come up with a snappy retort, but she was drunk, and too tired to scramble her thoughts together. “My ankle hurts but I'm drunk and I don't know _how_ badly I hurt it and I wasn't sure who else to call and whether or not I can walk and if I could walk whether that would wreck it more, and I was alone and, and Emma, I'm really, really sorry.”

The sheriff crouched down beside her. Ruby was relieved to see her expression was soft. “I'm sorry, Ruby, that was pretty mean of me,” she said. “I was just,” she laughed, shortly. “I was just fast asleep, you know? Even when I'm on call I never think I'll actually be _called_. And with you I don't feel like I have to be all polite and sensitive, I can just say what I think, and yeah. Sorry. I'll be nice. Which ankle?”

“The left.”

Emma poked it. Ruby winced.

“How drunk are you?”

“Pretty drunk.”

“Let's take you to the ER.”

“Are you mad at me, Emma?” Normally she wouldn't care, but she was tipsy, and suddenly it was very, very important she didn't upset this woman.

The blonde snorted. “No, I'm annoyed,” she said. “But don't worry. I'm not used to having friends, so I forget that it's okay to be annoyed. Alright. Up you get.” She held out her hand.

 

Ruby was falling asleep in the waiting room.

“Stop it,” Emma said, gently tapping Ruby's cheek. Then she tried to get Ruby to drink a little bit of her hospital cappuccino. Ruby grumbled and flopped against Emma, heard her sigh through the leather jacket.

“So your mom's a piece of work, huh?”

Ruby nodded, closing her eyes, but figured Emma would let her do so if she talked and proved she was awake. “She left when I was little,” she murmured. “But then she came back. It still hurts. And she pretends she didn't do anything wrong... one 'sorry' will fix it all...”

To her surprise, she felt Emma take her hand.

“What about your dad?” she asked.

“I never met him.”

“Did Mary Margaret tell you I was a foster kid?” Emma asked. Ruby opened her eyes and looked at her, the sheriff, in a slick leather jacket, face carved out of ice.

She shook her head. “You know Mary doesn't tell people anything that isn't their business.”

“It would have been okay if she told you.”

Ruby smiled. Then she closed her eyes again and Emma jostled her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “Bitch about your mom if you want. Just stay awake.”

“No, I won't bitch,” Ruby said, solidly. “Not after the foster home bomb drop. I have a mom _and_ a Granny. Complaining seems selfish. Do you have a Granny, Emma?”

“I don't.” She paused. “I don't have any family.”

Ruby squeezed Emma's hand, keeping her eyes closed still. She wondered if Emma would be awkward later, but Ruby wasn't afraid. She was never afraid of other women, of showing affection, bringing strength and solidarity. It was a hard world for ladies. “You can have some of mine if you want,” she murmured. “Granny. And you have Mary already. You know Ashley? And Belle...”

“Drink some more coffee, Ruby.”

Obediently, Ruby took a sip. It was bitter with a sweet edge to it. She blinked her eyes, realizing she had started to cry sometime in the past minute. Why? Was she sad? She didn't think she was, her eyes were just watering. Emma acted like nothing was amiss, which was how Ruby liked it.

“Thank you for taking care of Mary when David broke her heart,” she said.

Emma smiled. “You're welcome. And thank _you_ for taking care of Mary when David broke her heart,” she replied.

“Ruby?”

Ruby glanced up. Victor was standing there, frowning at her. Well, she thought maybe he was. Maybe he was frowning at the fact she was holding hands with Emma? She looked down, but saw that they weren't anymore. Hm. Girl bonding time over, then. She wiped her eyes, still puzzled at the tears.

“Ruby took a bit of a spill,” Emma explained. “We were waiting for a nurse to open an exam room.”

“Was it Nurse Ratched?”

“Yes...”

Victor sighed. “Okay, come on, I'll look at her right now. There's a room open just down the hall.”

Emma stood, helping Victor haul Ruby to her feet (well, one foot). She balanced precariously between them. It was odd; Emma was bony and rigid, Victor was firm and soft, but they were both strong enough to lean against and steer her competently down the hallway.

Ruby seesawed between the two of them, then ended up leaning against Victor. He smelt nice. Probably something by Old Spice. He seemed like an Old Spice kind of guy. “Surely an established doctor likeyourself doesn't needto dealwithdrunkenshenaguns...”

“Yeah, you're mumbling and no one can understand you, Ruby,” Emma said, helpfully. “Come on. Up on the table.” With Emma's help, Ruby was able to hop onto the examining table.

“I think I'm drunk,” she slurred.

“Obviously.”

“I mean more drunk!”

She had hoped to be in bed by now, sleeping her way through her excess, but instead she'd dropped out of a window, she was up and about, and her body was finally starting to digest the rest of her food – and the remaining alcohol that had been washing around in her belly with it. That must be what was going on, and she hated it.

Ruby caught Emma trading glances with Victor, who just shrugged. “Just let me know if you need to be sick, alright?” he said. “So what happened?”

“She fell out of a window,” Emma said.

“No,” Ruby said, stubbornly, though she was kind of entertained by how Victor's eyebrows flashed up in alarm. “I climbed out the window, then onto the first storey roof. Then I jumped. Into a hole. Duh.”

“A hole?”

“A burrow,” Emma corrected. “Probably a rabbit.” Then she paused, blinked, and snorted. “Only Ruby will go drinking at the Rabbit Hole, and then proceed to trip on a rabbit hole.”

Victor didn't answer and instead put his hands against Ruby's cheeks and neck, making her look him in the eye. Was he looking at her eyes or feeling her pulse? Or both? What? His hands were warm and comforting. “Did you hit your head, Ruby?”

It was a valid question. Had she? She'd knocked her chin a little. “Kind of,” she said, as she allowed him to turn her head this way and that. She closed her eyes, trying not to feel sick as the room spun.

“Eyes open,” he ordered.

“Weh,” she said.

“Are all of your patients this whiny?” Emma asked, amused.

Victor nodded. “Most, but at least this is the endearing kind of whiny.” He shone a penlight in her eyes, gauging her pupils. “Hm. You fell? How did you fall?”

“On my face. Like an idiot.”

“Hm.”

His hands moved over her face, checking for injuries. His thumb gently brushed a spot on her chin and she pulled back, and he nodded. “Hit your chin? Hold on.” He probed further. She sulked, but he seemed satisfied. “Well, you don't seem to have chipped a bone, but a bruise is going to come in.”

Then he started prodding and poking around her foot and ankle. Every now and then she would feel a flash of pain and recoil. Emma was holding her hand again, this time to physically support her as Ruby wavered on the examination table, leaning her shoulder against the other woman's so she didn't topple to the side.

“Is it broken?” Emma asked.

“Thankfully, no. Just a sprain. She'll have to stay off it for a few days to recover.”

Ruby groaned. “I'm trapped here...”

“Just like the rest of us,” Emma snickered.

Victor continued as if he wasn't being interrupted. “She'll have to stay off heels for the foreseeable future, too. But more importantly she has-”

“What!” Ruby shouted, so loudly Victor jumped.

“Just wear flats, Ruby,” Emma laughed.

“I don't _have_ any flats.”

“You can wear my boots. I think we have the same size feet.”

Ruby bowed her head in a dramatic sulk, and overbalanced, almost falling off the table again. Victor caught her and for a moment she was leaning with the top of her head pressed against his chest, his hands on her shoulders. Her head was swimming, even worse now, the room moving crazily around her.

Her body shuddered, and jerked, on its own accord. She felt Victor's hands tighten on her shoulders.

“Sheriff Swan,” she heard him say. “You might want to leave the room for a second. And maybe go grab a bucket.”

That was all Ruby heard before she coughed up a mouthful of vomit.

 

Apparently, not only was she drunk, she had a mild concussion, which explained why her eyes were streaming with tears and the world rotated wildly around her. If she hadn't been awash with nausea and panic, she would have been embarrassed. But it didn't seem to matter because Victor acted like he was waiting for her to finish tying her shoelaces, not thrown up half a night's worth of alcohol and junk food all over his scrubs and coat.

He hadn't moved. In the world of normal people, someone would have shrieked and jumped back and rushed her to the bathroom and tried to save the carpet. But this was a hospital and Victor was a doctor, and he supported her. She couldn't even pull away from him to try to save his clothes, he kept her still, steadying her head.

Besides, she couldn't stop even if she wanted to; she felt violently ill. She wanted to pass out and sleep, but as soon as she had stopped heaving Victor was calmly asking Emma, who was rushing back in with a nurse, if maybe she could go grab a pair of spare scrubs from his office while they cleaned Ruby up. And that seemed to be that.

Ruby dearly hoped they weren't going to make her stay overnight, because she definitely didn't have the health coverage for that, but Victor deemed her fit to leave so long as she was monitored through the night. He would drop by to check on her in the morning. “The alcohol is making her symptoms seem more extreme,” he said. “She'll need to rest. Once it's out of her system she just has the concussion and the sprain to deal with. I hope the night was worth it?”

“Not even close,” Ruby groaned.

Emma assured Victor she would take her home. What Ruby didn't realize was that home was literally, well, _home_ – back to the loft Emma used to share with Mary Margaret, and now lived in alone. “Like I'm sending you back there?” Emma scoffed, when Ruby asked why they weren't at the hotel. “Your mom would make your brain explode in this state.”

Would Emma have offered her the place to stay even if she hadn't been concussed or injured? If she asked, maybe Emma would tell her the truth.

“Yeah, of course,” Emma said; Ruby realized she had asked that out loud, not just thought it.

Emma told her to take a hot shower, clean up a bit more (a quick towel off at the hospital wasn't the best, even if most of it had gotten on Victor) and maybe she would feel better. In the meantime, Emma would make her a bit of instant soup and tea. She put a small plastic footstool in the shower so Ruby could sit instead of having to balance on one leg, then left her alone.

She almost fell asleep under the rain of hot water, but then Emma knocked on the door and woke her up, understandably suspicious. “Don't die in my shower!” she warned through the door. Ruby snorted, and tried to scrub the rest of her leftover makeup off with a washcloth.

Emma had passed her a towel and a bundle of clothes before leaving her be, and Ruby only realized after getting out of the shower (fighting for balance) that they weren't any of Emma's clothes, but actually a set of scrubs. She considered them in surprise. She didn't need to ask, her nose told her all she needed to know – they belonged to Victor, they smelt faintly of him, probably from being in his office. He'd probably sent Emma home with a pair just in case – well, just in case Ruby was Ruby and had no suitable clothes to lay around with a concussion and a sprain in.

She left every stitch of clothing she had worn that day in a pile in the shower, pulling the scrubs on over her bare skin, and hobbled to the door, gently calling out to Emma to please help her to the bed. They had a set of crutches, but Ruby had been deemed too drunk to handle even one of them.

“I'm sorry,” Ruby said, as Emma helped her sit. It was, perhaps, the seventh time she'd said it since leaving the hospital.

“I know,” Emma said, helping her prop her injured ankle up with some pillows. Ruby was refusing to touch the soup, which was steaming on the kitchen counter, so Emma had started to drink it. “But we all do dumb things and have bad days. Don't worry about it.”

“I owe you.”

“You're damn right you do.”

“You're my hero – no, my saviour.”

“You're damn right I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY GOT TO WHERE I WANTED TO BRING IN VICTOR PROPERLY YAY
> 
> if there is anything off about any of the medical stuff in this (and subsequent) chapters, please ignore. I'm a yuppie, not a doctor. Though if you want to know, my knowledge of concussions and ankle sprains is all firsthand (if a bit, well, fuzzy.)


	7. house call

Ruby didn’t feel especially great when Emma gently shook her awake, but she figured out why as soon as she was able to look at the bedside clock – 7:45 am. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours.

“Hey, Ruby, I gotta go to the station soon,” Emma was saying. “I’ll see if Graham can give me the day off, but I gotta do some paperwork, first.”

The thought of Emma skipping work for her because Ruby was an inconvenient houseguest was horrible, even when she was in a state where she could barely think straight. Emma had probably stayed up all or most of the night. “No, no,” Ruby said, trying to push herself into a sitting position. She’d passed out so deeply that she was still laying on her back with her foot propped up. “Stay at work. I’ll be fine.”

Emma frowned. “I promised Whale I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Didn’t he say he would come check on me? He’ll swing by sometime today.”

“You should have someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see if Ashley can come over with the baby or something.”

Emma frowned, looked at the clock, and sighed. “Okay,” she said. “There’s, um – one other thing. You need to talk to Granny.”

Ruby groaned, flopping back on the bed (and trying to ignore the way the world swooped before her). “Augh, you’re right,” she said. “Can’t you – no, no, I can’t ask you to deal with her. Do you have my phone? Is it charged?”

“If you think her coming over here might delay your recovery, I can keep this under wraps for a bit until you feel better,” Emma said, carefully.

Ruby shook her head. “No, I hate lying to her, and you shouldn’t have to do it for me,” she sighed. “I’ll call her. I need to call Belle too, anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll grab your phone now. And I’ll come back during my lunch break, okay?”

Before she left, Emma gave her a plate of peanut butter toast, a cup of coffee, and left a little bucket by the bed in case the nausea returned. “Just try and sit still and not think,” Emma said. “You’ll recover more quickly.”

“Easy,” Ruby said. “Thinking is for suckers.”

Actually, not thinking would be difficult, but it ended up being easier than she thought – after two bites of toast and a sip of coffee, she lay back, closed her eyes, and fell fast asleep.

 

She woke because her phone was ringing. Shit, shit, shit, she forgot to call Granny.

The clock told her she’d been asleep for forty-five minutes, so it wasn’t too late. In fact, it seemed Granny was calling her not because she discovered that Ruby was missing from her room, but because it was morning and Granny wanted to offer her some breakfast if she sloped into the diner, hangover or no.

So Ruby had to break the news. She didn’t relay any kind of madcap escape out of the window – she just made it seem like she had waited for her mother to leave, then left the hotel through regular means, before tripping in the dark. She didn’t mention the concussion, just the sprain. Luckily, Granny took the bait; mostly she was that usual mixture of worried and annoyed, and claimed she would be stopping by the sheriff’s loft with a foody care package soon because “We both know Emma can’t cook worth a damn unless it’s out of a box.”

Afterward Ruby relaxed again, sent a quick text to Belle to let her know what was up, and fell asleep again. When there was a knock at the door and Ruby pried her gummy eyes open – it was barely eleven! Wouldn’t _anyone_ let her sleep? – she expected it to be Granny or Belle, because Emma would have just let herself in.

“Gimme a sec!” she called, groggily. She peeled off the covers, grimacing at sitting up. There were no crutches to be seen – Emma had forgotten to take them out and Ruby had forgotten to remind her. Sighing, she stood up. Putting any pressure at all on the foot caused her pain, but she didn’t have the balance to hop around on one foot just yet. Her system was still awash with alcohol.

She managed to half hop, half hobble her way to the door, which thankfully wasn’t a long journey, though she grimaced the whole time. When she opened it, though, she saw neither Belle nor Granny, but Victor.

“Ah,” she said, dryly. “My personal physician has arrived.”

But Victor was just glaring at her in equal parts anger and alarm. “ _Why are you walking_?” he exclaimed.

“I had to get the door!”

In no time at all, Victor was bodily hustling her back across the apartment and to the bed, putting his arms around her without even bothering to ask. She wanted to be annoyed, but she found the whole thing too funny, starting to laugh.

“What?” he asked, helping her to sit. He pulled up the chair Emma had likely used all night to keep an eye on her and sat in it.

“I was just considering your womanizing ways,” Ruby said, pulling her foot up on the bed and wincing. “How many women have you hurried to bed before, and how many because they had a sprained ankle?”

Victor rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He looked different to her, but it took her a moment to figure out why until he was fishing a pen out of his pocket and going through the motions of checking her pupils. He was wearing a casual blazer, not unlike him, but also dark jeans and a charcoal t-shirt. She realized she’d never seen him in anything but a suit – until last night, when he’d been wearing hospital scrubs, the same sort she was wearing herself. And now this.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Still a little drunk,” she admitted. “Dizzy. And man, my ankle hurts.”

“All to be expected, but it looks like you’re recovering nicely, though your chin is starting to turn purple. You should be fine to go about your day as normal tomorrow; if you can walk, that is.” He moved on to testing out her ankle, nodding through her winces. “Let’s wrap this up.”

Emma had left some tensor bandages on the kitchen counter, but Victor didn’t seem mad she hadn’t used them yet. Apparently, Ruby wasn’t supposed to sleep with it bandaged. Thanking the fact she’d at least cut her toenails recently, she was still a little embarrassed by the shape her foot was in as he firmly wrapped the tensor around her ankle.

“Don’t laugh at the callouses,” she said, figuring she should beat him to the punch. She prodded at her bruised chin, frowning, wondering if it looked how it felt.

“I wasn’t.”

“You know how tough you need to get your feet to wear the shoes and boots that I do?” she continued. “It’s callouses or blisters.”

Victor laughed. “I wasn’t judging,” he said. “More importantly: are you really ticklish?”

“Not really. Why?”

“I’ve been kicked before while doing this for people.”

Ruby snorted. There was something ticklish about the way he was winding the tensor and delicately handling her foot, but she didn’t mind. Ruby was the kind of girl who went to sex shops and invested in anything covered in feathers. Of course, that wasn’t something she was about to mention to Victor.

“There.” He fastened the tensor in a blindingly quick movement. She noticed he was glancing around, carefully, and thought she knew what he was doing – taking stock.

She reached out and poked the empty bucket Emma had left. “I’ve managed to keep everything down, see,” she said, proudly.

But Victor was scrutinizing her plate, still full of toast. “You haven’t eaten since last night?” he asked.

“Haven’t been hungry. I feel bleh. No,” she said, frowning. “Don’t give me that ‘I’m a doctor’ look…”

“I’m _your_ doctor,” he reminded. “And even though I have gotten ridiculously drunk with you before, I am telling you to eat at least half a piece of this toast and you are going to take me seriously. I assume you’re still on drunk girl appetite, which means it’ll be delicious even though it’s cold.”

Ruby had to admit he was right about that. She began to slowly munch on the toast while Victor went and reheated the cup of coffee as well as fill up a glass of water. She watched him, tipping her head slightly to the side. He cut a nice, slim figure. Casual dressing suited him well.

He turned on his heel, piping hot coffee in one hand, water in the other, and raised his eyebrows. “Are you ogling me?” he asked, sounding like he was about to laugh.

“You’re looking good today,” Ruby said with a shrug, settling back against the head of the bed. She probably looked terrible, so at least one of them was worthy of a gaze. “Even with undereyes darker than your soul. Did you sleep at all?”

“Almost two hours. This is me looking frisky.”

She snorted inelegantly into her toast, then held out her hand. He offered the water first but she solidly shook her head until he gave her the coffee. “Well. It’s not like you’ve never ogled me.”

“I won’t deny that. I ogled you a little just now,” he joked.

“Please. I look like a sack of potatoes.”

“You look great for someone who fell-”

“Jumped.”

“-out of a window-”

“Off of a roof.”

“-and threw up last night.”

She winced. “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” she said.

“Happens all the time,” he said, easily. “That I can easily forgive. But, why didn’t you let me know you were coming into town this weekend?”

The question was such a surprise to her that anything resembling tact dissolved before she could use it. “Huh? Why?”

At that, Victor seemed a good deal less relaxed, but she couldn’t pinpoint how she knew that. He shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

Suddenly, Ruby felt incredibly rude – because technically she had been, even though unintentionally. “Sorry, I thought about it but totally forgot,” she half lied. “It’s just… coming back, it’s a little stressful. And there are so many people who I’m expected to see-”

“And you see me every two months?”

She smiled and shrugged.

“I don’t want to smother you or anything but, you know, I just thought we were…” he trailed off.

“Cool?” she offered. “We’re cool?”

“Do people say that anymore?”

“I’m saying it right now.”

He laughed. “I just thought we’d gotten to the point where we can be in each other’s company without requiring Mary Margaret. Or, you know,” he said, motioning to her foot, “an injury.”

Ruby licked a bit of cold peanut butter off her thumb. She’d polished off both pieces of toast Emma had left, and was still hungry. Knowing Emma, though, there was probably no food anywhere even if she felt like looking. “But it’s going to make such a fun story.”

“Speaking of stories, have you told Mary Margaret yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance. I knew she’d want a phone call…”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll tell her,” he said. “You shouldn’t stretch the three brain cells you have after you’ve gone and smashed them together.”

“Harrharr.”

“Seriously, though, you need to relax.”

A rough set of three knocks echoed from the door to the loft. They both jumped, not at its loudness, but at the unexpected interruption itself. Then a very familiar voice filtered its way into the loft. “Girl! You awake?”

 

Technically Granny’s arrival was right on time, as far as Ruby’s stomach was concerned. But she was rather displeased it was cutting her private time with Victor short. She hadn’t realized he was that fun to talk to while sober (it was different without Mary Margaret around; usually she was the one paying attention to Victor while Ruby mostly scammed on other men).

After hissing a quick ‘She doesn’t know about the concussion!’ to Victor, he went and opened the door. Ruby couldn’t see her grandmother’s face, but she was probably surprised to see the town doctor there. “She’s just right over here,” he said.

Granny came forward, carrying the stackable, plastic container monstrosity that was at the diner for the rare delivery (the diner was dine-in only, technically, but sometimes a regular could sweet talk Granny into delivering sustenance if they were feeling unwell). She had a stern look on her face, so Ruby braced herself, but it melted away as soon as she reached the bedside.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Granny said, examining Ruby’s face, and then her foot wrapped up in its tensor. “Hm. Doctor Whale do this for you?”

“He was just checking up on me,” Ruby said, leaning forward. She caught the scent of something delicious. “Is that lobster alfredo?”

“I thought a sprained ankle needed something a bit more special than the usual lunch menu.” Granny fussed with her blankets, even though Ruby was laying on top of them. There was a narrowed set to her eyes, despite the kindness, though. She was probably kind of pissed off about the whole night and Ruby would be hearing about it as soon as Victor excused himself. “Got to get your strength up. I’m sure you had a long night.” She glowered.

“Thank you, Granny.” Ruby leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her grandmother in a hug. Even in her twenties, being cute could still get her some leeway with the older woman. Over her shoulder, she watched Victor roll his eyes. While Granny had been talking, he’d been poking around, and located the set of crutches he’d let them borrow when they left the hospital.

He came over, leaning them against the wall by the window. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Ruby, if you _insist_ on getting up, use these. Remember R.I.C.E., okay?”

“Are you going to come by later?”

“I can.”

“Thanks for your help, doctor,” Granny said. Her tone was genuine, but there was something in it that was clearly, well, dismissive. As expected, Victor seemed untouched.

“Not a problem,” he said, mildly. “See you later, Ruby.”

Ruby began excitedly unpacking the food, Granny helping her to get out the utensils. “There’s extra for Emma, too,” Granny said. “I didn’t think she was capable of playing nursemaid, but I appreciate her looking after you like that."

Ruby was glad that her grandmother didn’t leave Emma out. “Yeah, she was awesome,” she said. “She should be back here for lunch. Maybe I’ll give her a call.” After a few mouthfuls of food, of course. Her appetite was back and raring to go, even with her nausea.

Granny cleared the toast-scattered plate and empty coffee mug from the bedside table, making room. “I thought about bringing a thermos of coffee,” she mused, looking at the coffee maker on the countertop. “You think Emma would mind?”

“I should probably just drink water now, Granny.” Ruby stabbed several penne noodles and transferred them to her mouth. “But if you want some joe I don’t think she’d mind at all.”

She looked up as he grandmother returned, and there was that look on her face again – a bit stern at the edges. But there was concern there, too. Ruby braced herself. “Now,” Granny said, calmly. “What _did_ you get up to last night?”

Ruby rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “Gran, come on,” she said. “You don’t have to pull this routine on me. I told you, I went to get some fresh air, I tripped, called Emma, end of story.”

Her grandmother sighed deeply, taking off her glasses. That was always a bad sign. “And what else? What about after?”

If Ruby was a teenager again, this would have made a dent. Hell, if Ruby was twenty she would have started to wilt. But she was an adult, and she didn’t appreciate being treated like a child. She loved her grandmother dearly, but Ruby did not need to inform her of every moment of her life and every choice she made, idiotic or otherwise. “Granny, why are you grilling me?” She knew why; she just hoped that by forcing her grandmother to explain herself, she would realize how ridiculous she was being.

But then Granny went and completely flipped over all of Ruby’s expectations for the conversation ahead. “Ruby,” she said, her voice so loaded with warning and worry that it was hard to distinguish which was which, “just tell me why _he_ was here and why you’re wearing his clothes.”


	8. twilight zone'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spat with Granny, and meeting (re-meeting?) Belle's Maid of Honour.

Ruby felt like she was in the Twilight Zone. Not that she’d ever bothered to watch that show – she was more of a _Twin Peaks_ kind of girl (that happened when the family business was a diner).

She just gaped at her grandmother, completely at a loss of what to say. Granny, for her part, was silent, just calmly staring at her. _Whoever speaks first, loses_ , flashed through Ruby’s mind. That was a saying that was particularly insightful for her when she was a teenager, and it never left her.

In this regard, though, she supposed she had to lose in order to throw the first punch. “Um,” she said. “What are you talking about, Granny?”

Her grandmother glowered. “Oh, please,” she said. “I know you, Ruby. You like men and you like their company – you get that from your mother – and I sympathize, but really, it’s your first day back in town and you decide to go after _him_ -”

“Granny, stop talking,” Ruby said, starting to feel herself lose her temper. Uh oh. “That is not a cool thing to say.” Was she defending herself or Victor? Both? She knew Victor had a reputation, just like she did. And it didn’t seem to bother him, like it mostly didn’t bother her. But whenever Granny hopped on the gossip bandwagon, Ruby started to see, well, _red_.

(She knew Granny had gossiped during the scandal with Mary Margaret and David Nolan, but Ruby hadn’t been there to jump down her grandmother’s throat for that. Perhaps, now, everything was rushing in to make up for it.)

“Ruby, just explain it to me. I come over and he’s here, and you’re like this, and what am I supposed to think?”

“You’re not supposed to think _anything_ , Granny!” Ruby half-yelled. Or quarter-yelled. More of a snarl. Her head hurt too much. “You’re supposed to _ask_ me how I’m feeling! If I slept okay! You’re supposed to ask Doctor Whale how I’m doing and thank him for being great! You’re supposed to go ‘why are you wearing those scrubs Ruby?’ and I can say ‘well I was a mess last night and really sick and Victor was nice enough to lend me some extra clothes he had laying around so after I took a shower here I didn’t have to climb into anything vomit crusted’! And then we could talk like normal people instead of you deciding I’ve done something you don’t like right from the start.”

Granny was recoiling from her with each laceration, but Ruby knew she could only have the upper hand for so long. Her grandmother was opening her mouth, about to give it right back, when they heard a key scraping in the lock and the loft door opened.

There was Emma in her tight jeans and leather jacketed glory. “Um,” she said, glancing at both of their very red faces.

Granny turned back to Ruby. “Why didn’t you come home last night?” she asked, quietly. And Ruby knew there was only one answer to that, the truth – she was avoiding the hotel and her mother and, by association, Granny.

Ruby didn’t want to say it. Even though she was angry, she didn’t want to do anything to purposefully hurt her grandmother beyond the current issue. But then Emma spoke. “We didn’t want to wake you up, and she needed some help in the shower and stuff,” she said. “And, you know, I had to work. And everything.”

Just like that, the tension went away. It didn’t diffuse, but it moved away somewhere else, for the time being. “Well, I better get back to the diner,” Granny said, even though Ruby knew full well her grandmother didn’t have to be patrolling the premises all day, every day. But it was clear their conversation for the moment had run to a standstill, and Granny was unwilling to head further down the path.

“Alright,” Emma said (Ruby was angrily shoving pasta into her mouth, refusing to speak). “We’ll catch up later.”

As soon as the door shut, Emma was grabbing a plate and a fork from her kitchen. “Do I smell lobster pasta?” she asked.

Ruby reached over and pried up the lid of a second large takeout container, steam rising up. “Granny brought enough for four,” she said, having calmed down a bit, though she still felt like huffing and puffing. “So there’s just enough for the both of us.”

“Ah, yeah, well,” Emma said, through a mouthful. The minute Ruby had turned away, Emma had helped herself to a forkful of Ruby’s pasta. Ruby, as an invalid, could not fight back. “About that. I ran into Belle. She’s coming over with some clothes for you. I’d lend you some of my stuff but my pants would all look like capris on you. And you wouldn’t be able to fit that swollen monstrosity you call a foot through them anyway.”

“She’s probably going to bring over her maid of honour and talk wedding shop.”

Emma pulled a face. “Undoubtedly. Should I tell her to bring her own sustenance?”

“At the rate you’re inhaling my food? Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll send her a text.”

Emma sat down on the chair Victor had previously vacated. “Whale come by?” she asked, motioning to Ruby’s ankle with her fork. She took the second container of pasta and opened it up properly, beginning to dig in.

“Yes. He yelled at me for not using the crutches and not eating. His bedside manner is something to be desired.”

Emma shrugged. “He gets the job done. And I’ve seen him be really sweet with people.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, little kids when he’s treating them. Anyway,” Emma went on. “You threw up on him and he was pretty nice about it, so I don’t think you’re allowed to judge.”

“Very true.”

The next few minutes were of silence, as the two of them busied themselves with the pasta. Further rummaging around in the parcel Granny had brought revealed homemade garlic bread, a blueberry pie, and sliced fruit, which Emma began to pull out and arrange on the coffee table.

A niggling curiosity made Ruby speak. “When Mary Margaret decided to come to Boston, you and Victor and Leroy helped her out, right?”

Emma nodded. “Yup.”

“That’s a super weird group of people.”

Emma laughed. “Definitely,” she said. “We don’t really associate much outside of our mutual friendship with Mary Margaret. She and Belle have that in common, I think – befriending a bunch of odd ducklings.”

“And marrying one of them,” Ruby mused.

“That too. Do you like him?”

Ruby shrugged. “It’s not really my say,” she said. “He’s Belle’s choice, and Belle has always been more perceptive about people than I am. I trust her judgment.”

“Come on,” Emma scoffed. “It’s not so cut and dry as that. You’re one of her best friends.”

Ruby nibbled on a penne noodle, having slowed down eating once she felt some of her hunger had abated. Her head already felt loads better, too. “Okay, fine,” she admitted. “Honestly, he’s never been anything but unfailingly polite to me, and age difference aside he adores Belle. And respects her, too, which I can’t say for most of the men who date my friends.”

The ghost of David floated in the air for a moment, and Emma nodded. “Very true.”

“And Belle is so, _so_ happy with him. They're super similar. And honestly, beyond being a cantankerous old bastard, I can't say he's ever been awful.”

“Belle is good for him,” Emma mused, surprising Ruby with the insight. “I've dealt with him on a ton of occasions in this town. There's definitely been a marked difference in his moods ever since he and Belle started to be, well. Steady?”

“Regular?”

“Open?”

“Flaunting it?”

Emma snorted, then coughed on a bit of pasta, and then there was a very firm knock at the door. “I'll get it,” Ruby said, sarcastically, when Emma failed to move, then yelped when the blonde poked her ankle in retribution. (It didn't really hurt).

At the door were Belle, Ashley and... Leroy.

“Hey sister,” Storybrooke Hospital's janitor said, sauntering in with a conspicuously bottle-shaped paper-bagged package. He seemed completely out of place and, yet, the most at-ease person there. “I brought you something.”

“Should she be drinking?” Ashley asked, worriedly.

“Should you?” Emma asked, archly, at Leroy. He snorted.

“Don't you start on me, Swan,” he said. “I get enough of that from Graham.” He held out the bottle and Ruby took it eagerly. Her hangover seemed completely forgotten, by that point.

“Maker's Mark!” she exclaimed, once peeling down the paper bag.

“You can have it if you promise not to throw it up on anyone,” Leroy said, dryly. “I had to clean up your mess last night.” Ruby blushed bright red, but luckily, Leroy just grinned at her.

Once the three visitors had made sure that Ruby was indeed alright (and rehashing the story, again, of her ridiculous jump out of the window and the rather entertaining interlude at the hospital) things settled into a more regular meet-and-greet.

Belle was busy unpacking food at the countertop in Emma's kitchen, helped by Ashley. “So,” she said, digging cutlery out of the drawers. “I've got everyone in the wedding party here, except for Mary Margaret. We should be able to make some decisions, clothing and decorating wise. I still want this to be a small affair despite... despite the papers.”

Ruby, having settled the bourbon on the bedside table and having begun to eat her pasta again, paused. She looked all around at everyone in the room – Emma pouring Ashley some wine and mentioning that it was five o'clock somewhere while Ashley talked about something cute Sean had said, Leroy settling in the chair next to the bed, Belle arranging a platter of cheese.

She glanced over at Leroy – poor, lonely Leroy, a man not that much older than her but still having grown up in a completely different world. Leroy, grumpy and cantankerous, who Belle claimed was sweet, loving, intelligent, with his head in the clouds. Leroy, who had been Mary Margaret's unexpected champion. Leroy, who Ruby always suspected as having more wisdom than anyone else in Storybrooke, should anyone bother to speak to him.

Ruby settled back against her pillow.

“You're maid of honour, aren't you, Leroy?” she asked, putting it all together. He just grinned.


End file.
